And here, before them, stood Kharvani--to the life!
"What of Kharvani?" growled Mahommed Khan.
"`A purblind fool, a sot and a Mohammedan,"' quoted the priest
maliciously, "`how many be they, three or one?'"
The Risaldar's hand went to his scabbard. His sword licked out free
and trembled like a tuning-fork. He flicked with his thumbnail at
the blade and muttered: "Sharp! Sharp as death itself!"
The Hindu grinned, but the blade came down slowly until the point
of it rested on the bridge of his nose. His eyes squinted inward,
watching it.
"Now, make thy gentle joke again!" growled the Risaldar.
Ruth Bellairs checked a scream.
"No blood!" she exclaimed. "Don't hurt him, Risaldar! I'll not
have you kill a man in here--or anywhere, in cold blood, for that
matter! Return your sword, sir!"
The Risaldar swore into his beard. The High Priest grinned again.
"I am not afraid to die!" he sneered. "Thrust with that toy of thine!
Thrust home and make an end!"
"Memsahib!" said the Risaldar, "all this is foolishness and waste
of time! The hour is past midnight and I must be going.
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